Toa Savage 20
by RenegadeDungeonMaster1996
Summary: The island of Zakaz. A constant warzone where heroism and selflessness are dead...until now. Eight warriors have risen, their goal: Become the heroes that Zakaz has never had. This is their story
1. Chapter 1

A lone figure trudged through a barren plain, the sun glinting off his black and purple armour. His gaze was fixed on the ground, focusing on the action of walking. A perceptive observer would easily discern his exhaustion, after all, it was evident in this body language, his slumped shoulders, the lack of glow in his eyes, the fact that he was dragging a massive sword across the ground behind him rather than hold it in a guarded position.

Varn was exhausted. The constant wars had finally taken their toll on the Skakdi warrior, his powerful body drained of power. But, the one thing that truly sapped at his will to fight, the one thing that made war draining, was the treachery of the other Skakdi. While Varn was no Toa, far from it, in fact, he never went back on his word. However, as far as he knew, he was the only Skakdi who had such qualms. Saying a Skakdi was treacherous was like saying a Tahtorak was a Rahi; they were both essential traits of their existence. Varn wished he could find a warband with at least a modicum of, what was that Matoran word? Comradeship? Camaraderie. That was the word. Camaraderie. If he had just one ally he could trust, he knew he could fight forever.

While he was pondering, he failed to notice the boundary lines for his warlord's territory, stepping into the no-Skadi's-land that marked the boundaries of the lake, the one place of peace in Zakaz. He didn't notice where he was until he tripped over a stone and nearly fell into the water, eliciting a laugh from a nearby warrior.

"Dude, you're an idiot. A blind idiot, which anywhere else would leave you a smoking corpse, but since you're at the lake, no-one is going to kill you."

Varn picked himself up and glared at the figure.

"Excuse me, who are you?" Varn took in the figure, noting how he carried himself, relaxed but also ready for action.

"Oh, sorry man, I'm Murdens. Independent soldier, some might call me a mercenary." Murdens grinned (well, grinned a bit more than usual for a Skakdi) and made a finger gun with his free hand.

"I'm currently between jobs, but hey, the pay is good and I don't have to bend the knee to some jumped up spine slug who calls himself a warlord."

Varn looked at him, tilting his head slightly.

"You looking for a partner? I want to get out of Nektaan's forces before I get a knife in the back." Internally, Varn was more than slightly worried that Murdens wouldn't accept the offer from a Skakdi he didn't know. Murdens looked shocked at the question, exacerbating Varn's fears until he spoke.

"I was actually looking for a partner, I just never thought I'd be able to work with a Skakdi with any professional ethics, but I have a good sense for people. You seem pretty on the level...wait, I didn't catch your name?"

Varn grinned widely, offering his hand.

"Call me...Varn."


	2. Chapter 2

"If we are going to form a decent mercenary crew, we need to get a lot more members, Murdens."

Varn said as the two of them sat around their campfire.

"I dunno, Varn. I mean, we don't need that many guys to form a crew. Most have six to eight members, after all."

Varn stared at the fire, thinking about Murdens' statement.

"If we are going to make an eight member crew, we need to get specialists. We can't just grab random warriors, we need the best that we can steal from the warlords."

Murderns nodded in agreement

"Agreed. Now, I'm taking the first watch. Night, Varn!"

* * *

In the morning, after the duo had rested, they set off towards the south of Zakaz, the territory of the warlord Vertaz, also known as the Iron Hammer. Her army was formed from gladiators taken from her arenas, only the best surviving and joining her elite forces. This is where Varn hoped to find their next companion, since there was no better place to look for soldiers than the arenas.

Upon their arrival, the duo purchased tickets to the current match: Fathaz vs Tyros...

* * *

Fathaz stared at his opponent, Tryos. Fathaz's orange armour glinted in the sunlight, his mouth twisted into an utterly hideous grin, his mace still slick with the blood from his last match. He lashed towards his enemy, the mace whistling through the air at Tryos' head. Tryos blocked with his shield, as a loud crack sounded throughout the arena. The shield shattered from the force of the blow, and Tryos recoiled in pain. Fathaz laughed loudly, swinging the mace at Tryos again

"Ha! You are no challenge for me!" As he mocked Tryos, his mace impacted into his enemy's chest, cracking his breastplate. As Tryos staggered back, Fathaz fired a blast of pure heat from his eyes, melting through Tryos' armour, severely wounding him. Tryos looked up at Fathaz, his face contorted with pain, and fired a blast of black energy from his eyes at Fathaz. As the blast hit, Fathaz felt himself grow weaker, as Tryos' wounds closed and he straightened up.

"You are a fool, Fathaz. Unlike most Skakdi, my vision power is tied to my internal power. I drain energy from my targets with my eyebeaaarghs!" His voice was suddenly cut off as Fathaz smashed his face with his mace. As he did so, Tryos felt his body heat up and suddenly...nothing. He never felt anything ever again. The onlookers were in shock. As Fathaz had struck, he had triggered his ability to cause detonations to explode Tryos and shower the audience in gore.

"Ha! Hahahahahahahahahaha! I am victorious! VICTORIOUS!" Fathaz screamed as he raised his blood-soaked mace in triumph...and then proceeded to collapse.

"Um, Druk? Druk? I can't move my legs. DRUK!"

As he screamed, a bronze armoured figure ran out to help him up.

"You overworked the linkage. Again. Seriously, brother, you suck."

Druk shook his head as he helped Fathaz out of the arena. The two had known each other for years, having grown up together and worked together for years. It was a very simple partnership: Druk made weapons, Fathaz used weapons.

"Hey, you two." Druk and Fathaz both turned to see the source of the deep voice. An unfamiliar pair of Skakdi were standing in the exit. One was clad in purple and black armour, and carried a greatsword that looked like it could stand replacement from Druk's perspective, and the other was clad in gunmetal grey armour and carried a chipped spear over one shoulder. Fathaz gave the two a once over, the two appearing slightly different to average Skakdi.

"Who in the hell are you guys, and what the hell do you want?" growled Fathaz, feeling slowly creeping back into his legs, pushing Druk's arm off his shoulder and standing up. "If you are here for a fight, take your best shot."

The taller of the two, the black one, smiled and shook his head. "No, I don't want to fight you. I want you to fight for me."

Druk cocked his head to one side: "What do you mean, fighting for you? Who's your warlord?"

The Skakdi laughed. "No. I'm forming a crew."

Fathaz's eyes lit up (not in a melting way): "A crew? I was in a crew once. You want a fighter and a weaponsmith, right?"

The Skakdi nodded. "Aye, I need both for my group. But. I have a very important question: Is loyalty important?"

Fathaz looked the mysterious Skakdi in the eye: "If either of us swear loyalty to you, we will follow you, unless you betray us. Then, we shall kill you and throw your corpse to the Kinloka."

Both of them laughed. "We'll never do that, we can assure you. I am Varn, this is Murdens." "Charmed" "Well, you in or not?"

Fathaz and Druk looked at each other, then at Varn and Murdens: "We're in."

Varn shook Fathaz's hand

"Welcome to the Notched Blade."

Druk shook his head.

"You suck at names.''


End file.
